


After the Storm

by theslashbunny (theplotbunny)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, I'm so serious about that warning up there, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplotbunny/pseuds/theslashbunny
Summary: Leonard Horatio McCoy has lived a long, colorful life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic I wrote for Team McCoy's Triathlon entry over at st_respect's Ship Olympics on Livejournal in 2011. The prompt was "Our song and other memories". The team picked the song "After the Storm" by Mumford & Sons and the captain just told me to go for it. I put the song on repeat, planning to write something hopeful and inspiring, a fitting end to the Olympics. This is what happened. I completely blame Mumford & Sons for any angst. 
> 
> The entry also includes amazing graphics and a moving fanmix created by our captain, redtapestry. Please go check them out [here](http://st-respect.livejournal.com/85001.html) (the song is there as well if you'd like to listen to it). She did such a good job; they're absolutely beautiful.

This was not what he’d expected out of life. When he’d watched Jocelyn walk away from him that last time, he’d fallen to his knees, battered and broken and unable to stand on his own. In that moment, his life had ended, only to start again on a cramped and crowded shuttle, sitting next to a beat-up young man and down the aisle from the prettiest girl - woman, really - that he’d ever seen.

When he’d signed the divorce papers, his signature had been shaky; whether from alcohol or emotional pain or both, he didn’t know. He’d signed away his self-confidence, only to get it back in a moment of immense relief: a CMO appointed in the midst of an emergency and one of the greatest tragedies the Federation had ever seen, watching grey-blue eyes open in the face of the man who’d been saved by his sure movements and steady surgeon’s hands.

He’d cried after signing the custody agreement - when he’d signed away his right to daily smiles and to what felt like happiness itself. But he’d be comforted by soft words from a woman raised by divorced parents from New Orleans who’d sit and drink with him on missed birthdays, who’d smile and listen as he gushed over a recent letter, a smile finally back on his face. And Leonard himself would also be one to comfort - never expecting to help bring peace to a pained half-Vulcan with something as simple as a reminder that all good human parents simply wanted their child to be happy -- and that the love of a parent continued beyond death itself.

And when he’d stepped onto that death-trap of a shuttle in Iowa, saying goodbye to the life he’d known and stepping into the unknown, he’d never expected to have his fears of flying one day comforted by two eccentric, foreign physics geniuses who cared enough about him to explain away his fears and offer him alcohol - real contraband _alcohol_ \- when the explanations didn’t quite work.

\+ + +

The first time his life had ended, he’d been on his knees. And so it seemed he would be on his knees the last time his life ended apparently. It was true what they said; that your life flashes in front of you before you die. That it parades its way, happy and sad, through your mind, digging up old regrets and broken promises, lifting you up with proud moments and the knowledge you’ve been loved. He’d closed his eyes, letting the scenes of his life play on the backs of his eyelids like an old movie screen, but that wasn’t what he wanted to see in his last minutes alive.

Leonard opened his eyes and looked up at his surroundings once more. His gaze passed by the alien in front of him, intoning a speech that Leonard couldn’t understand to a crowd that Leonard couldn’t see, eyes and thoughts falling instead on the humans in the sort of half-circle ( _parabola, actually,_ his mind supplied with a slight Russian accent) that he and the rest of the highest-ranking officers and remaining division heads of _Enterprise_ had been positioned in.

Hazel eyes came to rest on the center of the arc - on his best friend glaring at the alien with defiance still in his blue eyes even as his hands were secured behind his back, his ship gone, and his crew awaiting their deaths. _Jim_ , still unwilling to accept no-win scenarios, even when one was staring him in the face. Leonard knew they’d make him watch as they executed his crew - his friends - make him die with the guilt and pain weighing him down and the knowledge that. for once, his luck didn’t hold, his cunning wasn’t enough, and his team of geniuses unable to help him win this final battle. It was just another trauma, another moment of anguish that Leonard wished so desperately that he could spare his dear friend. The doctor had so many memories involving Jim - possibly more than with anyone else. As frustrating as the man consistently was, he was also the one who had never let Leonard down in any way - even if it meant living up to Leonard’s expectations of mischief and mayhem. As much as Leonard hated Starfleet sometimes, everything it stood for - the vastness of space, discipline, military might - and everything he associated with it - the danger, darkness, death - Leonard McCoy had been proud to serve under such a captain as James Tiberius Kirk. In his heart, Leonard knew that the universe would never see another like him again.

Next to him was another unique being, the likes of which would also never be seen again; Spock. Swathed in his usual stoicism, even on his knees, he seemed an impenetrable fortress of strength and calm. But Leonard had once, for a short time, the privilege of seeing beyond that mask. He’d seen the depths hidden by the smooth facade. Leonard’s mama would’ve called him a duck - calm on the surface, but underneath the water was frantic movement, constant motion to stay above the water, to keep going. Leonard had seen the man in the deepest throes of pain, both physical and emotional. He’d seen him clenching his jaw so tightly that Leonard worried he’d damage his teeth to keep from crying out. He’d seen him pale and sunken in the patient chair in the CMO’s office, concerned for his mental state enough to come to an emotional human for help in dealing with loss and grief. And it had changed his relationship with Spock - had changed everything, even himself.

He’d been forced to acknowledge and overcome his assumptions - assumptions that he was uncomfortable even admitting he had. He’d seen the cracks in the armor and through them had seen things he recognized in himself; vulnerability, insecurity, a need to belong and to stand apart, a desire to shine while hiding in the shadows. Neither of them had ever admitted to becoming friends. They still called each other names and, in certain ways, became even more petty and childish in their dealings with the other, but there was no longer any heat behind the insults and jabs.

Leonard and Spock were complements; the reason and empathy to temper Jim’s passionate ingenuity. Their conversations became tempered with respect and when they both agreed on something, Jim didn’t stand a chance in hell of getting his way. Together, the three had become an almost unstoppable force - until now. Leonard’s eyes examined Spock, searching once again for the chinks in the armor he wore. Kneeling there, he looked like a statue, the epitome of what a Starfleet officer and a Vulcan should be. But looking closely, one could see his eyes dart to left - at Jim - and linger a bit longer at his right - on the young woman kneeling with her head held high beside him.

Her eyes were reddened; Leonard could even see it from where he was positioned. As Chief Communications Officer, she’d been monitoring the comms until the last possible second. He knew that she’d heard every frantic plea, every scream of pain; the sounds of destruction coming through her ear piece with crystal clarity. She’d relayed orders that led to death, had listened with one ear to panic and another to the calm determination that Jim had maintained on the Bridge, providing the link between decision and action. She, perhaps, knew better than anyone of the last moments of many humans and aliens, friend and foe alike, because she’d been forced to listen to it in a way that the others had been spared. But here she was; dry-eyed and her usual perfect posture not even failing her in her exhaustion. He knew she was listening intently to every word the grandstanding alien in front of them was saying, every horrible detail, and though it had to be affecting her, she’d never let it show. Leonard felt his heart swell in admiration at the sight of such strength and dignity. She was quite the match for the man to her left. She had a grace that even a Vulcan would be impressed by. And Leonard knew she had a heart to match the brilliance of her mind. For a moment, their eyes met across the space between, and Leonard was struck by the warmth that he saw there, the compassion and affection even now.

They’d first banded together in annoyance at Jim, had bonded over their pride in their work, and had found common ground in the masks they hid behind, the tenderness beneath the tough-as-nails exteriors. They had connected on more than an intellectual level... But they had stopped before getting too close out of their respect for the noble man at her left. It was enough to remind Leonard of the stories he’d read in literature class in school so many years ago, of the romantic tragedies present throughout the classics. He couldn’t help but wonder if now - as she allowed her full lips to quirk up slightly at one corner in shared comfort - Nyota was thinking the same thing he was: of moments lost, of what could have been and of what would never be, of the tragedy of opportunities never taken.

Chekov was even more of a tragedy, his whole life ahead of him only to be cut short millions and millions of miles away from his beloved homeland and family. Len had always wondered why people always seemed to think the deaths of the young (or at least in this case, younger than the rest of them) were more tragic than the deaths of anyone else. To Leonard, life was life, regardless of how long it had been lived. But Leonard finally thought he understood, looking at the still young man kneeling between Len and Jim, head held high, eyes sharp and cold, embracing the part of a proud Starfleet officer never showing fear. Even after all the years had passed between the Narada Incident and the war now, Pavel was still the youngest officer on board the flagship. He was already the Chief Navigational Officer and he, Scotty, and Spock regularly caused an uproar in the academic community and the Research and Development Division with their hare-brained, _brilliant_ ideas. He had so much potential, so much to offer to the world and to those who love him. And Leonard had been lucky enough to be counted among the number of those Pavel truly loved in return.

Anyone could witness Pavel’s brilliance on the Bridge or in Engineering or Stellar Cartography or even in the Transporter Room. But Len got to see his innocent enthusiasm in the face of new information, or his kindness in secretly reprogramming the replicators for foreign and alien dishes in his ongoing battle against the homesickness of the crew. Older officers had complained about Chekov’s arrogance, but Len just felt unworthy in the face of Pavel’s compassion while teaching others and his humility in anything emotional. The entire Bridge Crew knew where Chekov was most ticklish, everyone knew the sound of his accent and laughter, but only Len was lucky enough to hold Pavel in his arms at night, to hear Russian endearments whispered to him and the sound of his breath as he slept. Leonard literally knew him inside and out and everyone else had paled in the light that Pavel spread everywhere he went. Many people would live with a Chekov-shaped hole in their lives, but Leonard would die with the knowledge that, at least for a time, the space in his own life had been filled by the brightest of beings.

The young man to his left looked fearless, but Leonard knew him well enough to see the tell-tale signs; skin even paler than usual, a tension in his frame that betrayed a tenuously held control. Pavel was terrified and all Leonard wanted to do was hold him in his arms one last time and lie through his teeth, telling him they’d all be okay, that Jim and Spock would get them all out of this mess somehow. But he also knew that Pavel would hate him for patronising him, for treating him differently. And they had too many wonderful memories together for Leonard to spoil it by making their last memory one of resentment by whispering falsehoods that would bring no comfort.

Christine was on his other side. She looked as haggard as the rest of them did; none of them had slept much recently. But even with the rings under her eyes and her usually perfectly-coiffed hair in disarray, she was still beautiful.

Morbid as it sounds, she'd really blossomed during that last battle, coming into her own as a medical professional. When M’Benga had been killed while tending an emergency down in Engineering, Christine had stepped in and performed both her duties as head nurse, maintaining order among the nurses, and the duties of a physician. Leonard remembered once trying to convince her to finish her training and take the boards, but she’d merely repeated what she told anyone who said that she “could do better”, that she was where she was needed most and there was nothing better than that. He couldn’t be more proud of her than when he was remembering how she’d viciously fought back when Sickbay had been over-run by the invading forces. She’d continued to tend to her patients at first, ignoring the aliens streaming through the door and shouting orders so quickly the universal translators had difficulty matching the speed. But once they’d started killing the patients - taking them off of life support or simply shooting them - Christine had turned into the mama bear that everyone on the ship knew her to be. They’d had to knock her out to keep her from her determination to save lives.

It was seeing her limp in her captors’ arms, hearing their leader use her as a threat against him, that had taken the fight out of Leonard. And if he could just save one more person by standing down, if he could just... But really, it wasn’t that noble. He couldn’t watch another friend die that day. He wasn’t proud of it - he knew they were all going to die anyway, that the patients would be massacred - but he wasn’t sure what would be done to the officers. Even if he could delay Christine’s death by a minute, that would be enough. They may have decided at the academy that they were better as friends and colleagues, but that didn’t change how much Leonard loved her. She’d been the first after Jocelyn; she’d been an island of calm sanity, in the sea of chaos that constantly surrounded Jim; she’d been his rock and his comfort. Maybe he was a coward, but he couldn’t have her death on his conscience, not after everything they’d been through.

Leonard’s heart clenched in his chest at the absence of their chief engineer. Scotty... _Monty..._ He and his engineering crew had managed to keep his lady intact long enough for the majority of the battle. It had finally taken a direct hit to the warp core to end the flagship’s resistance, and Scotty had yet again enacted a miracle and saved the rest of the ship from the destruction wrought by the core’s explosion. No one knew what law of physics the man had probably broken and no one ever would because no one else would be brilliant enough to figure it out without Scotty telling them. But the tightness in Len’s chest loosened as he realized: Monty’d gone down the way he would’ve wanted, in what he would call a “blaze of glory” with a wide grin on his face. The comfort was immediate when Len acknowledged that at least his drinking buddy - his confidante, the oldest member of the flagship’s humans, the only one he could bitch to over a glass of bourbon without judgment or recrimination - would not have to deal with the pain of outliving his one true love: his graceful lady with her ample nacelles _USS Enterprise_. Len could also be grateful that he’d died with hope. Hope that he’d saved the ship, hope that help would come, hope that his friends would make it out alive - hope that the rest of them no longer had.

Now, there was no doubt as to their futures. Leonard had watched people slowly go to their deaths before. He’d watched his own father face his mortality and seen the what knowledge of the end did to the human psyche. Those who had gone down with the ship hadn’t known what was coming and it was true that ignorance was bliss. Was it better to have these extra hours? Was the time worth the knowledge of how it would all end? Was it worth the sight of your loved ones going to their deaths? Jim’s would be the worst, with what was planned for him. And, it hurt to even think it, but maybe it would’ve been better if they’d never lived to be captured. At least if they had all met their end fighting, or if Jim had gone down with his ship like the sea captains of old and his father before him, he wouldn’t have to watch the final moments of his friends, his crew, all of the souls that had depended on him to keep them safe and flying. Leonard would never wish injury or death on anyone, but knowing what he knows now, knowing what was going to happen - it was just more pain that he wished he could protect Jim from, the way that Jim had protected them so many times.

There was another conspicuous absence among their group. The _Enterprise_ had lost their lead pilot in a battle almost a month ago. Sulu had gone in a death worthy of any of the heroes in the books he so loved. His quick reflexes and creative maneuvers had saved their lives many times throughout the war. Maybe Leonard was just still reeling from the loss, but he couldn’t help thinking that maybe they wouldn’t be in this position if their ship had still been in the capable of hands of Hikaru Sulu. All of their pilots were amazing, but none of them had the easy understanding of Enterprise’s abilities that Sulu had developed.

He and Sulu had never been close; they’re personalities were just too different - or maybe too similar - for that. They’d butted heads before and it had only gotten worse - or maybe better - after Pavel had announced their relationship. It was kind of surreal to get an “intentions” interrogation from someone a decade younger than you, but Leonard had respected his desire to protect his friend. They’d had a couple of awkward moments after that, but something - some tension that had existed between them - had melted in the glow of Pavel’s happiness. Though that didn't stop the young pilot from sending him suspicious glances every now and then, it had given them a shared interest in their concern for Pavel’s well-being. And for the past three weeks, Leonard had mourned his fallen ally quietly while being the support Pavel needed after the loss of his best friend.

Leonard’s eyes roved over the officers one more time. They’d all performed admirably, leaders that their subordinates could be proud of. Starfleet couldn’t have wished for a better group of people to represent the Federation, even in death. Surely Admiral Pike had already heard of their capture, but would he hear of their bravery? Would he know instinctively how proudly the men and women serving under him had gone to their deaths? Would he know that none of them flinched away from the harsh words being spouted at them from an angry mouth? Would he be able to read between the lines of the official report and see the dignity that they wouldn’t allow the alien captors to take from them?

Of course he would. It was Chris. Chris was family as far as the men and women surrounding Leonard were concerned. He’d read the enemy propaganda and seen the fear and respect that the crew of _Enterprise_ instilled with their valor and determination. The official report would be cold and clinical, but Chris’s announcement to the public and their families would be warm and caring. It was why the man led through respect rather than fear - he understood that every officer and enlisted who served under him was a person, whether human or alien. It was part of why Leonard respected him, both as an officer and a man.

The official report wasn’t the only one he’d be receiving, however. Chris was still Leonard’s emergency contact. He’d never changed it, even after all these years. He’d be able to view the official statement through the calculating eyes of an admiral, but the notification of family was different. They were still individually written letters from the commanding officer. Who would write Leonard’s letter? Admiral Boyce? Len thought that maybe the news would be easier to hear coming from a friend. Maybe Phil would even tell him in person. Len certainly hoped so. It wasn’t arrogant of him to think that Chris had never stopped loving him. It wasn’t opinion; it was fact.

Their relationship had not ended well. Even after moving on to other people, other relationships, they’d never “gotten over” each other. Leonard still loved Chris. He’s not sure what it said about him as a person, but if Chris had proposed even yesterday, Len couldn’t guarantee that he would say no. But Chris had never proposed and never would. He’d refused to make those kinds of promises. He’d wanted to keep Leonard by his side on firm ground, but he’d been unwilling to make the public commitment that was required to make Leonard leave behind the people who relied on him as their CMO.

It had been a huge fight - even bigger than the ones he’d had with Jocelyn - right after the end of Leonard’s first tour of duty. They’d been together for years at that point, mostly a long-distance relationship that had been hard on both of them, but had been oh-so-worth it. It had reached the point where it was no longer enough for either of them, but the gestures they were each willing to make for the other didn’t match and it _hurt_.

They say - whoever the hell _they_ are - that most relationships don’t survive a rejected marriage proposal. Chris and Leonard were both mature, experienced adults. They’d had a connection like none either had ever had before. But it wasn’t enough. They’d navigated the dangers of unequal rank and rumors of favoritism, lasted through Chris’s difficult physical rehabilitation, survived a relationship through the furthest reaches of space with irregular communication - and they’d finally found something that they couldn’t overcome.

The split itself had been civil enough. Jim had unfortunately been in the middle of it, but he’d been a good mediator and, with time, Leonard and Christopher had regained the ability to interact in a strictly professional manner. But there were still painful moments that kept them from being friends. Any time Chris attended a formal function with a date, Leonard heard about it and Christine had to run interference with the rest of the crew for a few days. And Len knew that Joanna still spoke with Chris; she had even spent a summer with him in San Francisco for an internship. That had been painful to hear. But he knew that it’d been painful for Chris to learn of his relationship with the young Russian. And that’s how Leonard knew that the love was still there. Pavel knew about it and he’d never begrudged him that small part of his heart that belonged to Chris. Years later and no longer together they were still able to hurt each other to the core.

Chris would get a letter about Len and he’d have to write one for Jim. He’d have to write all of the letters that would normally fall to the ship’s captain. He’d have to make public statements, attend memorial services, and continue his duties as an admiral in the time of war. And throughout, he’d hide his pain - just he always used to. He’d keep up the cool mask of the calm but compassionate representative of Starfleet Command while comforting the grieving relatives of all those lost. Len knew Chris would bury his own grief, delay his own mourning, in order to help others face their own.

Leonard wished he could spare him that pain. The overwhelming majority of others who cared about Leonard would be leaving this life with him; they wouldn’t need to feel that pain of loss for long. But Chris... Leonard had once been the person Chris had turned to. He’d spill out his fear, his anguish, his tears; Leonard would take in all of his negative emotions and ease them away. Jim had told him recently that Chris still hadn’t let anyone else in the way he’d allowed Len into his life. So who would help Chris cope with Leonard’s death? Who would sit next to him and offer him a drink after all of the notifications he’d need to write for the crew? Who would be there when he finally let down his wall of composure? Who would put the pieces back together when Chris could no longer keep from shattering?

Leonard wondered if Chris would be the one to inform Joanna. He certainly hoped he would. Chris and Jo had gotten along the second they met and he honestly didn’t want her to hear the news of his death from anyone else. Would she allow him to comfort her? She was losing more than a father - she was losing an entire set of men and women who loved her like family. His daughter was truly the only thing keeping him from accepting the situation fully - he didn’t want her to feel any pain, not on his account or anyone else’s. She deserved nothing but happiness. And his only true regret in this death - for it was a honorable death, he could understand that - was that he’d not be able to see the rest of the milestones in her life, never walk her down the aisle or hold a grandchild in his arms. The tear that escaped his eye was for her and her alone.

But Jo was strong - so much stronger than he could’ve ever hoped. He knew she’d be fine eventually. Now in the end, as much as he’d let her down throughout her life, he was living a life and going to an end that she could be proud of - she could hold her head high, finally, when people heard her father’s name, when they gave her their condolences. And she’d accept them with the grace that she’d shown since she was a little girl. She was the best thing he’d ever accomplished in his life and he knew that he’d be leaving behind an amazing legacy in his little girl.

As the vehement speech his executioner was giving came to a close, Leonard spared a thought for the woman who had helped him to create such a glorious being as Joanna. He wondered if Jocelyn would grieve for him as anything more than the father of her daughter - and, finally, a friend. He honestly hoped she wouldn’t - he didn’t want to cause her any more pain than he had all those years ago.

\+ + +

When the time finally came, they were allowed to stand as men and women, proud and determined on their feet, instead of cowering on their knees. They’d apparently earned it as worthy opponents in this war, this series of battles that would continue on without them. They were allowed to stand together.

As they faced their deaths - Leonard and those who meant the most to him, save three - they stood tall. Leonard looked their executioners in the face and felt fingers lace through his on either side. A small part of him that seemed disconnected from the rest of his self reflected on how they must look - a line of adults about to die, taking comfort from such a simple thing as holding hands.

As Leonard faced his death, his chest filled - not with fear, but with peace, like the serenity that came after a brutal storm. Leonard had found love - love in its purest form. Love that would not break his heart, love that dismissed his fears and left him whole. He would not be dying alone as he had honestly expected the day that his life ended the first time, when he had lost the people who had once meant everything to him, the people whose relations were part of his identity. Instead, he would die surrounded by people who, for the first time in his life, had accepted him as he was, people he had grown and changed with, people who he’d loved and lost and found in a connection that could not be explained, that could not be defined or labeled.

His last sights would be of his dearest friends - of those who he would not be alive without, of those who he would surely see again if there really was a God.

And so Leonard Horatio McCoy’s life ended for the last time, with a smile on his face and loving acceptance in his heart, hand in hand with his equals and his complements. As one, they left behind their interlocking pasts, united individuals stepping forward into the final frontier.


End file.
